


Just a Dream

by Justalittlelouislove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, No Major Character Death, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 15:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13573686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justalittlelouislove/pseuds/Justalittlelouislove
Summary: Something old,something new,something borrowed,something blue,and a silver sixpence in her shoe.





	Just a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THE TAGS. There are thoughts of suicide in this fic so please please please proceed with caution.

 

Louis’s eyes have been open for hours when his alarm clock starts ringing. Bluebirds sit in the tree outside of his bedroom window, twittering happily. Beams of sunlight, bright and warm spill in through the window. 

Laying in his mountain of blankets, Louis smacks the alarm clock quiet and turns to look at the vacant left side of the bed with a sigh. Colt had been so insistent that the day before their wedding they do things the traditional way, spend the night apart. That’d talked about it at least a dozen times over the years. 

What a silly tradition. There was no way one night could cancel out three years of nights together. But, love is about compromise. 

Louis’s phone starts ringing shrilly and he slides out of bed with a groan. He stumbles over across to the room and grabs it off the dresser as another wave of nervousness rolls over him. 

“Yeah.” Louis looks at himself in the mirror, pushing at the hair that falls around his forehead. 

“Are you up,” Niall asks, uncharacteristically nervous. “Liam says he’s on the way to the church now.” 

“Of course I’m up,” Louis says with a roll of his eyes. He shuffles into the bathroom and sandwiches the phone between his shoulder and his ear so he can get his toothbrush set with toothpaste. “Did you get your suit?” 

“Yeah, yeah I did,” Niall says around whatever he’s stuffing into his mouth. “Zayn’s got the flowers.” 

Louis nods, rubbing his forehead. There’s a stress headache brewing behind his right eye. “Then we’re all set, right?” 

There’s Tylenol in the cabinet, thank god. Louis takes three with a large gulp of water and burps into the phone. 

Niall ignores it. “You sure you don’t want me to pick you up?” 

The butterflies intensify, uncomfortable and near painful in his stomach. He grips the sink and wonders if this is what they call cold feet. 

“Don’t worry about me, worry about getting yourself there on time and stain free.” 

Niall laughs loudly, making Louis smile while he leans down and switches on the shower. 

“Alright I’m getting in the shower, I’ll see you soon.” 

“Alright,” Niall answers, then pauses and drops his voice a little quieter. “Hey, Lou?” 

“Yeah?” Louis yanks down his sweats and kicks them to the side. 

“Love you.” 

Louis leans his head against the wall and sighs. “Love you too. Now get ready, you  idiot.” 

Colt may have won the argument over sleeping arrangements the night before the wedding, but Louis had drawn the line at wearing a gown. It hadn’t actually been a request, but a white tux had been, so Louis had agreed. Catching a glimpse of his reflection off the side of his car, he’s got to admit, it is a good look on him. 

He looks across the full parking lot to the church when the bells start ringing. Louis mentally goes over his list of necessities for the hundredth time. Pulling open the back door of the car, he grabs a red box and pulls out a small glass of cologne to spray on his wrist, something new from Liam just last night. His tie, checkered white, and baby blue is Niall’s, his something borrowed. Finally, with a smile, he remembers Colt gently rubbing his thumb over his cheek and telling him his eyes would be just perfect for his something blue. 

Already then. 

The moment he steps foot in the church and the trumpets start to play, the butterflies disappear and a calm sense of determination settles over him. He can do this for Colt. He can do anything for Colt. 

No one stands as he walks down the aisle. He barely registers it, eyes locked forward, vision tunneled. But, Colt would be infuriated. It’s another tradition broken. You stand when the bride walks down the aisle. Halfway down the aisle, tears start to fall, fast and hot down his cheeks. He ducks his head to try and hide them from everyone else in the church. 

A bundle of roses sits in a beautiful vase on the floor next to the first pew. Louis picks one up, watching a teardrop fall to the ground, and smells it. There are no thorns along its stem. Louis runs his fingers along it, wishing there were, while he takes the final three steps. 

The casket is cold. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised by that. Sliding his hand back and forth across the smooth surface he wonders if it would be better if they’d been able to do an open casket. If he’d been able to see him one last time. 

No. Not better. Different maybe, but nothing could ever make this better. 

Louis senses movement behind him, maybe someone else coming forward to pay their respects, maybe someone to console him. He squares his shoulders and places the rose on top of the casket. He leans forward slowly, pressing his lips to the cherry wood he’d painstakingly picked out with Liam just days before, kisses Colt goodbye. 

Growing up, Louis had spent every Sunday in this church. The room he’s in now, in the back of the church and layered in dust, had been one of his favorites.  Once, under an overturned table in the corner of the room, Liam had found an aged and crumpled sermon pamphlet that had been printed in the 70’s. 

The stillness of the air, the dirt and grime, the quiet, it’s everything Louis needs. Distantly, he can hear the preacher leading a prayer, sending Colt home. Soon, a military man will stand up and hand Colt’s mother a carefully folded flag. The trumpets will sound again. The mourners will filter out one by one, leaving their sadness behind and taking with them Louis’s future. Every dream and hope he’s had for the last four years. 

Louis slides down the wall, letting his legs fold underneath him, and slips to the floor. His white pants are ruined surely, filthy with dirt and dust. Liam will be so disappointed. 

He closes his eyes and when he finally opens them again, hours have passed. The room is filled with dim light,  the sun is setting through the stained glass windows on the wall. 

The church is quiet again, the service long over. Louis listens to the sound of his heart beating slowly in his chest. He takes a deep breath. Three more when it doesn’t seem to help. 

Slowly, he reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out his something old. Tracing his fingers over the wooden handle, he thinks back to sitting on his grandfather’s porch and watching him clean the revolver. Listening to him tell his Vietnam stories of bravery and defeat. He’d learned to shoot with it, spent long days in the woods with the boys, knocking down cans and bottles until the cylinder laid empty. 

It’s full now. 

As Louis holds the cold weight of it in his hands, the calm determination returns. 

He freezes when the handle of the door jumps, spinning slowly. He hopes for a second that the door will stick, that the intruder will suddenly remember some forgotten task and hurry away, maybe someone will call out to him or her and pull their attention away from where Louis is hiding away. 

None of that happens of course, and in the next second the door swings open with a creak and in shuffles a tall man. He keeps his gaze towards the ground so his face is shadowed and hidden. Turning, he shuts the door behind himself carefully, moving with deliberate movements. He makes it about four steps into the room before he spots Louis on the floor and freezes. 

They stare at each other in tense silence. Louis makes no move to hide his weapon, even when the stranger’s eyes inevitably land on it in his lap. He brings his eyes back up to Louis’s and then swings them to the door, looking as if he’s weighing his options. 

Louis hopes he decides to go. To leave him in peace. 

The man takes three slow steps backward and slides down the wall across from Louis, crossing his legs and staring down at his hands. His fingers are covered in rings, one for each, and he spins them around now. Maybe nervously. Maybe it’s just something he does. 

Louis pulls his eyes away from him and stares out the window at the rapidly darkening sky. He’s in no rush. This guy will finish doing whatever he came here to do, and then Louis. Then Louis will do what he’s come to do. There’s no reason to rush. 

“I read once,” the stranger says in a deep monotone, clearing his throat before continuing on slowly. “I read once that butterflies have memories from the time of being caterpillars.” 

Louis turns and looks at him questioningly. The man keeps his eyes on his rings. 

“And I’d always wondered about that when I was a kid,” He continues in an easy way. Like they’ve known each other all their lives. “Like, do they remember being locked up in that cocoon, so tight, like a prison. Does it make flying feel that much better, the freedom of it?” 

Louis blinks. Maybe he’s hallucinating some kind of archangel or something, something his brain has hatched up to get him to back out. 

“I’ve sat here tons of times. Thinking the same thing you are thinking,” The man says, bringing his chin up and staring Louis right in the eye. “Never wanted to make the mess though. It’s awful rude, don’t you think? Making someone clean all that up?” 

For the first time in maybe a month, Louis laughs. It’s surprising and more of a gasp than anything, but it’s closer than he’s gotten in a long while. 

“I guess so,” Louis says with a shrug. 

The man’s eyes are green, Louis can see now, despite the darkness in the room. And they are rimmed red like he’s been crying. He takes a deep breath and looks down at his fingers again. His shoulders slump, the effort of looking into Louis’s eyes seemingly exhausting. 

“I’ve got a couple of caterpillars at home in my window. In a couple of days, they’ll be cooped up in their cocoons.” Louis watches the rise and fall of his chest. “Then they will be butterflies.” He shrugs one shoulder delicately. “Someone’s got to be around to let them free. Me. I’ve got to be around then, to let them free finally.” 

A wave of understanding washes over Louis and suddenly he doesn’t feel so alone. Because right here, right in this room, there’s someone who is convincing himself why he needs to stay alive just as much as he’s convincing Louis. 

“I bet they’re going to be beautiful,” Louis whispers. 

The man looks up again with a tiny smile. “Would you like to help me release them?” 

Louis nods, giving him a tiny smile in return. “Yes, I think I would.” 

He watches as the stranger unravels his legs and shuffles over towards Louis. He stands in front of him with his hand outstretched, waiting. Louis takes the revolver off his lap and places it on the floor. Taking a deep breath, he grasps the much larger hand and lets himself be hauled up from the floor. 

Doesn’t let go. 

His stomach growls as soon as he’s standing upright. He frowns, trying to remember the last time he’d eaten. “Sorry, guess I’m hungry.” 

“Hello Hungry, I’m Harry.” 

Louis groans, rolling his eyes. But he’s smiling again, for the second time that day, and it feels amazing. Like waking up from a long dream. 

He’s not alright. Not yet. But somehow, he knows he will be. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
